


the natural progression

by goldenthunderstorms



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Era, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friends with Benefits but like on accident, Hurt/Comfort, I'll be honest I struggled rating it, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Probably Historically Inaccurate, Suicidal Thoughts, but i tried, em and I cooked up this au and it's beautiful, just don't expect anything more than the book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms
Summary: Instead of Richard Peele, Monty has his first kiss under very different circumstances with Percy. When it first happens, neither of them think much of it. But as the years go on, Monty and Percy's relationship begins to change in ways neither of them is sure how to handle.(or, an au where canon mostly proceeds as normal except monty and percy are even more "platonically" affectionate and eventually fwb)
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague & Percy Newton, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Comments: 44
Kudos: 29





	1. I: the first kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [em_gray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/gifts).



> yes I'm still working on altarcations I'm just waiting on my motivation to return from the war  
> so while we all wait, here's a new fic! this'll be a shorter one, just a series of one shots in this au em and I thought up a couple nights ago where monty kissed percy first as kids and that kinda shifted their friendship as the years went by (but the rest of canon plot remains pretty the same because they are still masters of miscommunication)  
> I hope you enjoy! kudos and comments are love! I love y'all!

I swing the door shut with my foot, shooting Percy a look. “Thanks for nothing,” I say.

Percy looks up from tracing patterns on the rug. He frowns at me. “What?”

“You could’ve opened the door for me.” I lift the tray of cookies that I’m carrying as if he missed them. “After I went down and talked the cook into giving me these, it was the least you could do.”

Percy smiles, though he makes no move to get up from the floor. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.

I roll my eyes and sit beside him, setting the tray between us. This isn’t the first time I’ve pulled off this heist. Unlike most of the servants, the cook likes me. She thinks I’m too small for my age and always tries to slip me extra snacks when she sees me. She insists that I’ll never grow to be tall and strong unless I take them. I like snacks, so I don’t bother telling her that if I’m anything like my father, I don’t have much hope for growing  _ tall and strong _ . It’s this false hope that gets me whole trays of cookies to bring up to Percy when he stays the night.

He’s been doing that much more recently. Not that I’m complaining. Percy and I have been friends for almost eight years now since we met as children at one of my parents’ parties. We’ve always been particularly tight-knit. (How could I not be with a lad that I’ve known since before I turned five?) But lately, Percy has been spending even more time at my house, and his aunt and uncle have been less concerned about his whereabouts. Neither of these things bothers me in the slightest.

“Next time,” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine, “you can ask the cook.”

Percy makes a face. “She doesn’t like me as much as she likes you.”

“Then I suggest you be more helpful.” I try to keep my voice haughty as I say it but a grin breaks through and betrays me.

“I’ll be helpful in eating these cookies.” Percy takes a cookie off the tray despite my weak attempts to push him away. He shoves it in his mouth and gives me a full-cheeked smile.

“You’re disgusting,” I say flatly. Percy chokes on a laugh. I pat his back. “There, there, Perce.”

He manages to choke down his cookie and coughs before responding. “If I choked, it would have been your fault.”

I hum as if this is hardly a concern to me. “Not my fault you don’t have manners.”

“You’re hardly one to give a lecture on  _ manners _ .” I make a face at him. “Point proven,” he says.

I flick him but don’t bother responding, taking a cookie from the tray. Once I eat it, I say, “Just be glad I made it back without Felicity and her friend seeing me.” Because my little sister has also recently made it her life’s mission to complicate mine, she pitched a fit about having  _ her _ friend Johanna over when she heard Percy was.

Percy laughs. “What are they doing?”

I shrug. “I just passed by her room. I think Johanna was talking about some lad she fancies and Felicity was begging her to stop.”

Percy frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t remember fancying anyone at ten.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you even fancy anyone  _ now _ ?”

“Do  _ you _ ?” he shoots back. When I don’t respond right away, he turns genuinely curious. “Do you?” he asks again, plain.

I eat another cookie to avoid answering right away, though Percy’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Not exactly,” I say.

“What?”

“I don’t fancy…anyone in particular.” Percy doesn’t answer. He keeps staring at me like he expects more. I try to decide how much to say. This is Percy, my best friend. I tell Percy almost everything. But this isn’t just anything. This is something that the other boys in Cheshire would torment me for. But Percy isn’t like them. Percy has always been better than the rest of us. “But,” I venture, “I’ve been thinking about… _ who _ I fancy.” I glance at him and back at the tray of cookies. “I think…I think I might like boys?” I say in a quiet rush.

For a few, terrifying seconds, Percy doesn’t say anything. I worry that this was a mistake and he’s about to sprint out the door shouting about how disgusting I am. Instead, all he says is “Oh. Me too.”

My head snaps up and I stare at him. It’s a far more dramatic reaction than he gave me but I wasn’t expecting that from Percy. “You too?”

He turns red. “I think so. I’m not sure.”

I nod. I know exactly how that feels.

Percy picks at the rug again. “How did you know?” he asks.

I grin. “You can’t tell me you haven’t at least  _ noticed _ Samuel Jacombs.”

Percy barks out a laugh. “ _ Samuel _ ? You fancy  _ Samuel _ ?”

“I never said I fancied him! I said he was noteworthy. Why? Who caught  _ your _ eye?”

“Peter Sackby?” Percy says quietly after a moment.

I pull a face. I never thought Peter Sackby was much to look at. He’s rather small, his hair just slightly too yellow to be brown, with big blue eyes. In fact, he looks a bit like me if I were about half as good-looking as I am.

Percy huffs. “Don’t make a face. I didn’t tease you about Samuel.”

“You laughed,” I point out. “And you can’t. Samuel might be thicker than he is tall, but he  _ is _ gorgeous. And a good kisser.”

Percy’s eyes widen. “Did you  _ kiss _ Samuel?”

I snort. “No, Catherine Delaney did and  _ wouldn’t stop talking about it _ . If I had kissed a lad, I think I would be fairly certain whether I would want to do it again or not.”

Percy makes a sound of agreement and picks up another cookie to nibble on. Then, I get a somewhat mad idea. I stare at Percy. He catches onto what I’m thinking. He lowers his cookie. “Are you serious?”

“Why not?” I say. “If you want to. No harm in it. But we’d know then, wouldn’t we?” The more I think about it, the less mad of an idea it seems. It would be purely experimental. It’s not like it would mean anything. This way, we would be able to try it and say whether it’s something we want to do again. Besides, I can’t pin down why, but I feel like kissing Percy wouldn’t be  _ bad _ , whether I find I want to kiss more boys or not. Some of the boys we know that have kissed plenty of girls have complained about a bad kiss or two. I don’t think it would be that way with Percy.

Percy still looks taken aback by the idea. I wait for him to say no, that it  _ is _ mad, but then he sets the cookie aside and nods. “Alright.”

“Alright?” I repeat. 

Percy sucks on his bottom lip—which I’m suddenly much more aware of—and nods again. “Sure, why not?” he says with a laugh. When he looks at me again, he’s clearly nervous.

Neither of us knows what we’re doing but it’s just kissing. Surely it’s not that hard. Percy is still staring at me and I worry he’s going to lose his nerve and back out. So I muster up all the courage I have, lean forward, and kiss him. Though it is my first kiss, and I have nothing to compare it to, I think it’s a good one; short and soft and easy. We’re both wide-eyed when we pull away. I touch a finger to my lips, not caring if it looks daft because the feeling of Percy’s lips there wasn’t like anything I’ve ever felt.

“That was…not bad,” Percy finally says with a smile.

I laugh, nodding because he’s right. It wasn’t bad. It didn’t change my life or anything, but I liked it. I’m glad it was with Percy. 

And I would consider it an overall success because now I know that it’s definitely something I want to do again.


	2. II: the first shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty's kiss with another boy doesn't end quite as well. But at least there's always Percy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I question myself while writing this? yes. but was I too overdramatic and morose at 13? absolutely.  
> enjoy! kudos and comments are love!

I’ve counted and recounted the clouds in the sky. The number is different each time. I think that’s the only reason I’m still at it. This small scrap of entertainment is enough to keep me outside because it’s better than the alternative. Despite the December cold, I’ve been hiding behind the house for hours now. I don’t think anyone is looking for me but I desperately don’t want to be found.

For a time, the cold numbed my face and the bruise there. It’s started throbbing again, reminding me of how I earned it. It’s been two days since but the pain has hardly subsided.

It’s been two days since Richard spread the rumor that our kiss the day before—the kiss that _he_ initiated—had been forced upon him by me. Two days since my father made me apologize to Richard _and_ his parents. Two days since my father hit me so fiercely that I saw stars. Two days since I’ve taken to being a hermit and hiding in various locations in our house so that I don’t have to face my father again, or go anywhere and risk facing Richard or any of my friends. I don’t think I can even call them my friends anymore.

Everyone believes Richard, of course. Why wouldn’t they? My word is nothing against his, especially when I’m the one being accused of being a bugger (which is only one of the many terms that have been thrown at me since).

The friend that I’m most afraid of facing is Percy. I didn’t tell Percy about the kiss with Richard when it happened. It wasn’t anything momentous. I’ve kissed a handful of other people in the months since our first kiss and come to the rather solid conclusion that I like kissing lads just as much as I like kissing girls. Now, I wish I _had_ told Percy about the kiss with Richard, so at least he would know how it really happened. But he’s surely heard the things Richard said by now. I don’t know what I’ll do if Percy believes them. Of all the rejection that I’m facing, Percy’s would hurt the worst.

I pull my legs in tighter against my chest, perching my chin on my knees. The clouds above me are grey and heavy with the promise of snow. I’m going to have to go inside soon. For a moment, I consider just staying out here and letting the snow claim me. Perhaps freezing to death would be a kinder fate.

“No wonder you always lost hide and seek when we were younger.”

I jump, practically springing to my feet. Percy stands there, watching me with an expression that I can’t read, but it’s not a happy one. I want to reach for him and beg him not to look at me that way, not to believe Richard, but I stop myself. He still hasn’t said anything. Just reaching out and grabbing him feels like something I would do if Richard _was_ right about me. But Percy _still_ doesn’t speak and I can’t take the silence anymore.

“Percy?” I say, my voice much weaker than I would like it to be. He stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head. “Percy, please. It-it isn’t like Richard said, I swear. _Richard_ kissed _me_ at the party and I didn’t stop him but I didn’t force myself on him! It wasn’t my fault! Please, Percy, you have to believe me, just this once. I swear I’m not like he said—”

“Monty!” He cuts me off, taking my arm. I lean into the touch a bit more than I should, gravitating to him. I don’t think Percy notices. “Of course I believe you, you goose.”

I look up. “What?”

Percy scoffs. “You think I believe _Richard Peele_ over you? I know you wouldn’t do something like that.” He tugs me to his side and I’m so flooded with relief that I let myself be pulled. “Zounds, you’re freezing,” Percy mutters, hugging me to his chest. His coat presses painfully against my bruises but I don’t complain. “How long have you been out here?”

“A few hours or so.”

Percy starts guiding me inside. With him by my side, it feels less daunting. I think we’ll go upstairs but instead, he leads me to a sitting room with a fire blazing. There are servants cleaning but none of my family is there. We sit on the sofa closest to the fire. The servants stay out of our way. None of the servants have been able to look at me since what happened. I don’t know if it’s because they _know_ what happened or just because of my face. Even Sinclair won’t meet my eyes when I speak to him.

I suddenly feel sharply aware of what I look like, of the situation I’m in. I’m so aware of it that it feels like I can see myself as Percy sits me down. It feels like I’m watching as he rubs warmth into my hands rather than feeling it myself. Shame has been my constant companion these past few days, but I am suddenly overcome by a very different kind of shame.

I’m brought back to myself by cold fingers on my chin. Percy tilts my face up, studying me. “What happened to your face?” he asks quietly. The look on _his_ face tells me he already knows.

It’s not the first time my father has hit me. It’s just the first time he’s ever hit me so hard, the first time I’ve been bruised. I’ve been slapped and cuffed on the head more times than I can count. Not that Percy has never _seen_ it happen. I told him, though I didn’t mean for him to fixate on it like he did. A few years ago, I offhandedly mentioned being slapped when I ran into a servant and caused him to drop a stack of plates. I figured that was commonplace but apparently, it made Percy worried for me. I try not to talk about it now. I think he overreacts. All fathers are rough on their sons. Percy might insist that my father is rougher than most, but it’s not like he would know.

“It doesn’t matter now.” I look away, pulling out of Percy’s grasp.

“But that’s Richard’s fault, isn’t it? If he hadn’t said what he said—”

“Perce, come on. It doesn’t matter.”

Percy frowns. “Richard can’t just—”

“Why not? Everyone believes him but you.”

Percy doesn’t argue. I’m right and we both know it. What’s done is done.

I face the fire and lean back into Percy, still trying to fight off the chill I got outside. Percy puts an arm around me. “Maybe I’ll just stay here,” I murmur. “Become a recluse. Collect dust by the fireside.”

Percy chuckles, nudging the side of my face with his nose. “Absolutely not. If you become a recluse, who’s going to hate Richard Peele with me?”  
I weigh that for a moment, then grumble, “I hate Richard Peele.”

“ _We_ hate Richard Peele!” Percy says loudly. I laugh and shush him.

“Someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t care,” Percy says, though his voice is quiet again. “You have to promise to not become a recluse.”

I sigh dramatically, looking up at him. “I _guess_ I promise.”

Percy grins, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Good. I won’t accept anything less.”

The next week, I make my promised return to society. Though I’m sure no one has forgotten and my bruise hasn’t faded—has only changed from its deep purple to a sickly green—I can’t hide my face forever. And Percy has made it abundantly clear that if I abandon him, he’ll have my head.

Monday, the other lads go into town to play billiards. No one invites me, or even tells me about it, but Percy knows and drags me along with him. I regret it almost as soon as we get there. I’m clearly still not welcome. Hardly anyone looks at me. Those who do give me sideways glances as if I deserve the ugly mark on my face. No one but Percy talks to me, though plenty of my former friends talk _about_ me, making sure I’m in earshot when they do.

It hurts. I can’t deny it. I feel as if I’ve done something irreversibly wrong, broken some law that everyone was aware of but me. _I_ feel wrong. I feel out of place. I feel like I’ve wrecked nearly all of my friendships with something I have no control over, something that I can’t fix no matter how desperately I want to.

Once again, I find myself having that thought. It’s a dangerous thought. It confuses me, somewhat, but it also feels right. It feels like it came from somewhere outside of myself, yet like an undeniable truth. _If this is how it’s going to be for the rest of my life, is it really a life worth living?_

I tried to shake off the thought the first time, but it hangs over me. It hangs over me as I give up on socializing and slink to the back of the room. It hangs over me as I find a corner to make myself small in where I can wait for Percy so we can go home. It hangs over me when Percy catches sight of me, seems to consider something, and then joins the next game of billiards that Richard starts with his friends. I don’t know why he does it. Percy is rubbish at billiards. But it’s not as if they turn him away.

I try to watch the game, but I’m consumed with wishing I was able to play, even though I’m even worse at billiards than Percy. But at least before, I had the _option_ . Now, I’m certain they would turn me away. Not that I want to play billiards with _Richard_ anyway.

I consider leaving. Percy is clearly fine on his own and no one else wants me here. I get up and start to make my way toward the door.

But then, there is a loud _thwack_ followed by someone crying out. I barely have time to process what’s happened before I see Richard on the ground, holding his face, and Percy, clutching his billiard cue to his chest and looking more apologetic than I’ve ever seen him in his life.

“Richard, I am _so_ sorry!” Percy cries. “You know I’m awful at billiards! Next time you ought to stand a bit farther away from my cue!” He holds out a hand as if to help Richard to his feet.

Richard glares up at Percy. I think Richard might tell him off, but then Richard _spits_.

Everyone takes a step back, staring at the blood Richard just spat onto the floor. Sitting there is a single tooth.

Percy’s apologetic mask slips for a moment and I see what can only be described as _delight_ on his face. He quickly covers it again. “ _Christ_ ,” he says, “I’m really sorry, Richard. Really, I think it might be best that I just sit this game out. And the next few.” Percy sets his cue on the billiards table. “I’ll just be going.” He rushes over. “Coming, Monty?”

I fall into step behind him, trying to suppress a smile. Even though Percy apologized, I hardly believe that was an accident. Judging by the glares we’re receiving from the other lads, they don’t quite believe it either, but they don’t stop us from making our escape.

As soon as Percy and I are outside, we burst into laughter.

“Percy!” I grab his arm. “You avenged me!”

Percy grins, clearly pleased with himself. “How could I not? He deserved it.”

“You bashed out his _tooth_!”

“Which was better than I was hoping for.”

“You’re mad,” I say, still giddy.

Percy just shrugs, trying to seem unbothered but not fooling me. We talk about it the rest of the walk home. When we get there, we stop by the kitchen where the cook slips us each a biscuit. We retreat to my room and collapse onto my bed. We lay there for a moment, faces an inch apart, still grinning at each other like fools.

Then, Percy reaches over and pokes me in the side, making me squirm. “I can’t believe you kissed _Richard Peele_ —”

“He kissed me!”

“But you liked it.”

I can’t argue with that. It wasn’t the best kiss I have ever had, but it wasn’t awful.

“I wouldn’t kiss Richard Peele,” Percy continues.

I snort. “You can’t talk. You don’t kiss anyone.”

“I kissed you.”

I freeze and stare at him. Ever since that night we kissed, neither of us have mentioned it. I don’t regret it. In fact, it still stands as one of the better kisses that I’ve had. But while I’ve gone on, having other kisses and doing more exploration, Percy hasn’t. As far as I know, that’s the only kiss he’s ever had. I don’t know if he’s given any more thought to it, or who he fancies, since. I certainly have.

Still, I try not to look so surprised by his words. It’s not as if I forgot we kissed. I _was_ there. When the silence stretches for too long, I ask, “Do you…still fancy lads?”

Percy freezes too, then considers that. “I think so,” he says quietly, “but only lads. Not girls.”

That hadn’t crossed my mind, but I suppose it’s more than possible. If there are boys who _only_ like girls, and me, who fancies both, surely there are boys who _only_ like boys.

I nod. “I’m fairly sure I like both.”

Percy half-smiles. “We’re quite a queer pair, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” I admit, though I’m smiling too. “But I don’t mind being queer with you.” Percy laughs again, softer than before. I lean forward and nudge his nose with mine. “Besides, I think you’re rather stuck with me now.”

“I don’t mind that either. You’re certainly better company than _Richard_.” Percy pauses and grins again, somewhat hesitant. “You have to tell me at least, was he a bad kisser? He seems like he would be.”

“He wasn’t as good as you.”

When I say that, there’s a shift. Percy seems to look at me with sharper eyes. I hold his gaze. There’s an unspoken question there. I nudge his nose with mine again, almost daring him. Percy inhales, sharp, then dares to lean in.

He kisses me.

I’m not sure what it means. I don’t think it means anything. I don’t fancy Percy the way I thought I fancied Richard. I’ve just never thought of him that way. He’s my best friend. I don’t know how to see him as anything else.

Kissing him is nice, though. I like it. After that kiss, I do it again.

I’m not sure how it happens, but it becomes regular for me and Percy. After that kiss, there are others. Normal kisses, kisses on the cheek, kisses on the forehead. I’m not sure why but it comes easy with Percy. It’s comfortable. Everything with Percy is comfortable. Percy and I have always been affectionate, and the kisses are just another part of that. 

I know the kisses aren’t the _same_. We make sure no one sees us. It’s just something for us. It’s not as if we don’t already have secrets. There are plenty of things that I share with Percy and only Percy, so what’s one more?


	3. III: the first break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty is expelled from Eton and sent home in bad shape. Percy wants so badly to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen I know ice hadn't been commercialized by the 1720s but y'all have to let me get away with this one for the hurt/comfort alright-  
> this is the eton scene for this au so be warned for child abuse mentions and suicidal ideation!!!  
> thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy! kudos and comments are love!

I’m dozing in the grass. Well, I’m trying to doze. It’s hard to fall asleep laying in the wet grass with every part of my body aching and the taste of vomit lingering in my mouth. But the thought of getting up and going back inside is too taxing. I’m sure I’ve missed the rest of breakfast by now, but I don’t think I could keep anything else down anyway. Just being around my father right now makes me feel ill.

I’m sure the feeling is mutual. Every time my father looks at me, the disgust there is plain to see. His sodomite son. The biggest mistake he ever made. The family disappointment. Every time I close my eyes I see his face as he called me all of that and more yesterday. He told me that he wished I had never been born.

I was on the floor then, breathing too hard and in too much pain to speak. But if I had been able to, I would have said that I did too.

I only have myself to blame. If I hadn’t gambled as much or had been better at hiding the letters or hadn’t started writing them in the first place, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe if I had never given into my  _ unnatural instincts _ . Maybe if I hadn’t let Sinjon kiss me.

Though, for as much as it has cost me, I don’t regret my kiss with Sinjon. I don’t regret Sinjon at all. He was the one thing that made Eton bearable. When he kissed me, I felt wanted and comforted and not so  _ alone _ . I always felt alone at Eton. It always felt like there was some large joke that everyone was a part of but me, no matter how hard I tried to understand it. I always told Percy that no one at Eton was good enough to befriend but, in truth, I didn’t think anyone wanted to be my friend anyway.

And then there was Sinjon. Of course, Sinjon was more than a  _ friend _ , but he was also that. Though now my actual feelings for him feel fickle and trifling compared to the events of the past few days, I hope Sinjon made it out alright. I’m sure a similar fate awaited him. I don’t know much about Sinjon’s life before Eton. It’s not as if he knew much about mine. Perhaps his family had more grace than mine. Perhaps he has a flock of friends that won’t care whose mouth he stuck his tongue in.

“Christ.”

I open my eyes to see my one friend that fits the bill. (Though Percy doesn’t seem to care whose mouth I put my tongue in because occasionally, it’s his.) “Hallo there, darling,” I manage. I pretend to not notice the way my voice cracks on the last word. “How was your term?”

Percy stares down at me, his gaze a mix of pity and revulsion as if he desperately wants to look away yet can’t bear to. “Jesus  _ Christ _ . What happened?”

“Eton threw me out.”

“I heard. That’s not what I’m concerned about right now.”

“Oh, this?” I gesture to my face, biting back a wince at the pull on my ribs. “Don’t I look dashing?”

“Monty.”

“ _ Piratical _ is perhaps a better word.”

“Please be serious.”

“Took a dozen men to bring me down.”

“Who did this?”

“Who do you think?”

A heaviness settles over both of us. It’s hard to keep up a smile under such an implication. Percy looks upset. I expect him to say something but he doesn’t. Instead, he lays on the ground beside me. His hand brushes against mine but I don’t feel like I have the right to take it. I keep my gaze on the sky, watching a bird fly overhead. “So why’d they toss you out?” he asks.

It’s an effort to keep my voice neutral. Steady. “Well. I had a bit of a gambling enthusiasm.”

“Everyone at Eton has a gambling enthusiasm,” Percy says flatly. “It’s not enough to expel you.”

“It was enough for them to search my rooms. And there was found some incriminating correspondence between myself and that lad I wrote to tell you about. Which was rather enough.”

“Oh God.”

I can’t help the smallest of smiles at the sympathy in Percy’s voice. I brush my hand against his again and he takes it without hesitation, squeezing. “In my defense, he was very handsome.”

“And they told your father about them, did they?”

“Oh, he got to read them all. And then throw them back at me. Literally. Some of them he read aloud to punctuate…” I trail off and gesture to my face with my free hand. Percy doesn’t look but still grimaces. “So now he’s going to be home more, to keep an eye on me. Not so much time away in London, and that’s entirely my fault. I’m going to have to see him all the time and be around him—all the bleeding time, and it’s not going to change  _ anything _ .”

“I know.”

“If he could beat this out of me, I would have let him long ago.”

Percy squeezes my hand again, silent solidarity. We don’t often talk about this—our  _ urges _ —like this, but it’s a constant that hangs over our heads. The noose that is always one pull away. We both know what our feelings mean. We know the dangers. But they’ve never felt so real until now. When the headmaster first found out about me and Sinjon, I wasn’t ashamed. I felt so sure of myself and my feelings. I thought I was faultless.  _ How can this be so wrong when it feels so right? _ I had wondered.

Well, the descent into Hell is easy. My father made sure I knew that. Though, at this point, I might prefer Hell to this house.

The house windows are open and I hear Felicity unhappily playing the harpsichord in the parlor. It feels far away, part of a world separate from ours.

“I wish I were dead,” I say, so soft that I hardly hear myself. Percy hears, though. I close my eyes (to the best of my ability, what with my face being so busted) so I don’t have to see him turn his face to mine.

“Do you mean that?” Percy’s voice is just as quiet as mine, like we’re sharing some kind of secret.

I suppose we are in a way. I’ve had this thought before, many, many times. I’ve never told anyone though. For a long time, I wasn’t sure what to do with that thought. I’m still not. It was frightening at first, though now it’s more strange. Strange to go through life feeling like there’s nothing for you in it. Strange to lay awake at night wondering what it would take, how  _ easy  _ it would be. Some days it still frightens me. Some days I don’t even know what I’m still holding on for.

Maybe it’s that it would be so easy just to end things. So easy that I hardly feel like I deserve it. When I got myself into this mess, do I really deserve the easy way out?

Sometimes I feel like I’m just not ready to reckon with that part of myself yet, even as it becomes bigger every day. It  _ is _ still frightening. I’ve tried to reason with myself, to romanticize it, to turn it into something softer and less intensive like everything else is when I drink. But I can’t. Wanting to die is a bleak, ugly thing with teeth and a weight like nothing else. I can’t escape it. I can’t imagine trying to explain it in depth to Percy. It would probably scare him more than it scares me.

“I don’t know,” I finally say. “Yes. Maybe.”

“Well, don’t…don’t do that. Don’t want to be dead. Here.” Percy bumps my shoulder with his until I open my eyes. He holds his free hand above us, fingers splayed. “Here are five reasons not to be dead. Number one, because your birthday is next month and I already have something really excellent for you and you don’t want to die before I give it to you.” He ticks the reason off on one finger. It draws a small laugh from me, though I’m so close to crying that it hardly sounds like one. I want to press my face into his shoulder and hide there for a long time, but I also want to hear these five reasons. Maybe I’ll need them. “Number two,” he continues, lowering another finger, “if you weren’t around there’d be no one who’s worse than me at billiards. You are so rubbish at billiards it makes me look quite a bit better than I actually am. Number three, I wouldn’t have anyone who would hate Richard Peele with me.”

“I hate Richard Peele,” I mutter.

“WE HATE RICHARD PEELE!” Percy shouts, startling a bird in the hedgerow. I laugh again, a real laugh this time. He squeezes my hand again. “Number four, we still have never managed to slide all the way down the staircase at my house on a serving tray, and without you there, the inevitable victory will be hollow.” He lowers his thumb, forming a fist that he raises in the air. “And five, if you weren’t here, everything would be the worst. Abso-bloody-lutely awful. It’d be dull and lonely and just…don’t, all right? Don’t be dead. I’m sorry you were expelled and I’m sorry about your father but I’m so glad you’re home and I…really need you right now. So don’t wish you were dead because I’m so glad that you’re not.”

Percy looks at me again and I keep staring at the sky, processing his words. It’s a lot to sit with. More than I feel capable of handling right now. I don’t know how Percy could want me here so badly when I can hardly stand to be around myself. I don’t know why he  _ needs _ me. I don’t know what to say.

The silence stretches for too long and Percy prompts, “Alright?”

“Alright.” It’s all I can say.

Percy stands and helps me to my feet. He’s as gentle as possible but I still wince. Percy puts a steadying hand on my arm. For a moment we stand there, taking each other in. Percy has grown since I last saw him at Christmas, rather strikingly, in fact. It’s always seemed like he’s been stretched too thin with awkward limbs too long for his body. Though he’s still lanky, it almost suits him now.

I don’t want to know what Percy thinks as he studies me. His hand is still on my arm, though now the touch is more comforting than steadying. He looks around us. Then, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips. When Percy pulls back, I try to follow him, leaning closer only for him to put a cautious hand on my shoulder. I think he’s trying not to hurt me.

I don’t want him to be so courteous. I want him to pull me in. This is familiar. Comforting. Through everything else, Percy has always been here. He’s been my refuge.

Even when I pursued Sinjon, my friendship with Percy has always remained as it was. It’s not as if the two impeded each other. What I had with Sinjon isn’t anything like what I have with Percy. Sinjon was an infatuation, a challenge, a risk. He made my heart race and my face flush. It was an intricate dance, a courtship almost, for Sinjon and I to come together as we did. It ended almost as quickly as it began. I  _ knew _ it was going to end—though I hadn’t expected it to end so disastrously. But Percy is different. He’s always been different. There is nothing confusing or uncertain about what I have with Percy. He is the only constant in my life. He is steady and sure and simple.

Percy squeezes my shoulder, pulling away sharply when I grimace. “Let’s go inside,” he says softly.

I want to argue, but I don’t have the strength. I let Percy guide me inside and up to my room. He sits me down on my bed, where I immediately fold over. The pain doesn’t get any better lying down.

“I’ll be right back.” Percy retreats toward the door.

“What? Where are you going?” I try—and fail—not to sound so distraught.

“Just downstairs,” Percy says gently. “I’m getting ice from the cellar.”

I pull myself up. “Percy, don’t—”

“It’ll only take a minute. I’ll be quick.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

Percy watches me for a long moment. I’m sure we make quite the tableau: me, battered and bruised, barely managing to hold myself up in bed, pleading with him; and Percy, standing with a hand on the door handle and a pained expression. I’m flooded with a familiar shame that almost feels like a side effect of the bruises now. If Percy walks out that door, I almost don’t want him to come back. I don’t want to be the object of his pity. But, more than anything, I don’t want to be alone.

“I’ll be right back,” Percy says again. He slips out and shuts the door quietly behind him.

I lay back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. When we first arrived home yesterday, I retreated to my room and refused to leave. I couldn’t bear to face anyone. I could barely move. My pain and shame were too great. But now, sitting in my bedroom feels like sitting in a set trap. I don’t know how to be in this house without feeling my father looming over me. At least at Eton, I had the illusion of being out of his reach. I don’t have that anymore. (Nor do I have the foolish belief that my father has any reservations about beating me.)

Nausea starts to settle in the pit of my stomach again when Percy returns. I sit up. He sits beside me, turning and pulling his leg underneath himself so that he can face me. He sets a small metal pail between us.

“I’m going to start with your face, alright?” he asks softly. He tries to catch my eyes but that feels like too much. That would let him get too close. So I shut my eyes and nod. I hear the rattle of the ice against the pail, then feel the ice pressed against my cheek that took the most damage. The cold is a small shock and the press against the bruise makes me wince. But then the pain starts to ease.

Percy makes quick work with the ice. He presses it to one cheek, then the other, then my chin and my split lip. When parts of the ice melt, he wipes the water from my face. I can feel in his touch how hesitant he is, how hard he’s trying not to hurt me any more than I already am. He’s trying so hard but I can’t even look at him. I can’t meet his eyes when he watches me like a wounded animal.

I feel his lips brush against the crown of my head. “Monty?” he whispers.

I try to hum in response, though it comes out more like a whimper.

“The bruises on your torso…” Percy trails off, taking the fabric of my shirt between his fingers. “Is that alright?”

My eyes fly open. It takes me a moment to realize what he’s asking. He wants to  _ see _ . All of it. My face is a wreck but the rest of it is much worse.

“You don’t have to.” Percy starts to pull back, setting the ice aside. “Just say the word and I’ll—”

“No!” I move too quick, tugging at the bruises on my sides, but I don’t care. I grab Percy’s wrist. “Don’t go,” I say weakly.

Percy stills, surprised, then he slips his hand into mine and gives it a tight squeeze. “I won’t.” He moves closer to me again. He presses a quick, soft kiss to my knuckles. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I nod. I let go and start to undo my waistcoat with shaking hands. Percy notices the trouble that I’m having and steps in, undoing the buttons himself. He helps me out of my waistcoat, then pulls my shirt over my head. I close my eyes again but still hear Percy swear under his breath as he takes in the damage.

He starts to press ice onto my chest. When touching a certain bruise makes me grimace, he softly kisses my shoulder, trying to balance the pain with comfort. He brushes a steadying hand against my side. 

I tremble under his fingers. I feel so fragile and fleeting that if he pressed down any harder, I’m certain that I would shatter into pieces. I might even welcome it. But Percy is too gentle for that. His touches are light, barely-there but just enough to remind me that he  _ is _ there. That he isn’t going anywhere. That he’s here with me and I can stop feeling so alone.

I can almost,  _ almost _ let myself relax. Not much. But just enough to quiet my mind and anchor myself in his touches. In the softness of his lips against my shoulders and my temple. If I can push aside the pain and the mortification, it’s just Percy taking care of me. It is the one thing, in all of this, that feels right.

But then Percy tries to ice my ribs and it becomes impossible to ignore the pain. I whimper involuntarily. My ribs have felt particularly fragile since I came home. Every touch and wrong move is agonizing. I think they might be broken but I chase away that thought almost as soon as it comes to me. It’s too daunting. And I’m too powerless to do anything about it if they are.

Percy yanks his hands away as if he’s been burned. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

I just shake my head. My throat is suddenly too tight to speak.

Percy sighs, taking my hand again. “God, Monty,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry.” His voice is heavy and somber. Somehow I know that he’s apologizing for more than accidentally hurting me.

I am ravaged from the inside out and he can see it. I am damaged. I am ruined. I feel like a shell of what I once was. Or maybe this is what I’ve always been and this is just what it took for me to see that. But I don’t want  _ him _ to see it. It’s humiliating.

Percy squeezes my hand, rubbing my thumb with his. I want to pull my hand away but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m torn. In front of Percy like this, I feel vulnerable and exposed. But maybe that isn’t so bad. This is  _ Percy _ , after all. Percy, who I share everything with. All my secrets and feelings and, hell, even my first kiss. There have always been parts of myself that I had to hide. From my father, from the other lads in my year, from Sinjon. But I never have to hide from Percy, even when I want to. He’s always known me better than anyone. Sometimes even more than I know myself.

And after feeling  _ so alone _ for  _ so long _ , maybe I just want to be known again.

Percy leans in and touches his lips to the less bruised cheek of the two. Something inside of me pulls. And then it breaks. Tears that I’ve held at bay all morning slip through. I twist up my face and squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to will them away and pretend that they aren’t there.

This isn’t a shatter; this is a clean break. Rather than falling to pieces, I’ve cleaved myself in two, just so he could see what I won’t show anyone else.

I feel Percy still. I start to pull away and try to manage something like an apology, an explanation,  _ anything _ . But Percy just squeezes my hand again and starts to wipe the tears from my cheeks. Lightly so it doesn’t hurt. Everything hurts but I wouldn’t dare tell him that. His hands are the only thing keeping me together now.

“Monty,” he whispers, tilting up my chin until I finally look at him. I expect some kind of disgust or pity. Surely, now that he’s seen me for everything that I am, he  _ should _ be repulsed. Surely I seem like I’m going mad. I probably  _ am _ mad for no sane man wishes he were dead. But Percy is too kind. If anything, he just looks saddened. Somehow that makes it all worse.

I choke back a sob and slump forward into him. Pain shoots through me all over again but I don’t care.

Percy doesn’t hesitate to push the ice aside and wrap his arms around me. He cradles my head against his shoulder as I try to stifle the sobs that break through. I’m relieved that he doesn’t try to lie to me and tell me that it’s alright, that I’m safe. I don’t have the luxury of believing in safety anymore.

Percy lets me cry for God-knows-how-long. Until I run out of tears. Until my throat is hoarse. Until I feel empty and hollow. Until I fall quiet and press my face against his neck, sniffling. I’m exhausted and a bit numb, though I suppose that’s for the best with bruises like these.

“One day,” Percy says quietly, running his fingers through my hair. I nod to show that I’m listening. “One day it won’t be like this anymore.”

I would laugh if I had the energy. “You think so?” I murmur.

Percy nods, though I’m not sure how certain he is either. “One day this will all be long behind you. You won’t even  _ remember _ Eton or Sinjon. Your father won’t be around anymore. And…and we’ll always have each other.” His lips ghost across the top of my head. “I’m always going to be here, Monty. And though I wish it were under better circumstances, I really am glad you’re home. I’ve missed you. So much.” He’s whispering again like his words are just for me.

I glance up at him and try to give my best approximation of a smile, though I’m sure it looks more like a grimace. “I missed you too, Perce.”

He rubs my back and I ignore the soreness. I let myself have this  _ one thing _ . Things are right shit and I’d rather die than live in the same house as my father, but at least I’m not alone. I have Percy, my constant, my refuge.

Steady and sure and simple.


End file.
